


childhood memories

by remy (iamremy)



Series: askbox prompts (multifandom) [18]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Post-Canon, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, jon tells tormund about his siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 23:02:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: anonymous asked:If you've still got prompt energy, Jonmund 10 (nostalgia) please! Also, big fan of your drabbles so far!Prompt is "nostalgia". Jon watches some Wildling children play and it reminds him of his childhood at Winterfell.





	childhood memories

“You broke my sword!”

“It’s not a sword, stupid, it’s only a stick!”

Jon smiles as he watches the children argue, one of them tearfully clutching a broken stick as the other scoffs and crosses his arms. “You broke it!” he insists.

“Just find another one!”

Not five minutes earlier they’d been laughing and playing as they ran around the campfire, pretending to be swordsmen as they went at each other with their crudely fashioned sticks. It reminds Jon so much of his childhood that it almost takes his breath away; for a second, he feels like he’s gone back in time, like he’s five again and running in the courtyard with Robb at his heels.

“What are you smiling at?”

Jon blinks, coming out of his thoughts to find Tormund standing in front of him. “The children,” he answers, as Tormund sits. “They reminded me of myself when I was younger.”

“Played at knights a lot, did you?” Tormund asks, glancing over at the children before looking back at Jon.

Jon nods. “My brother Robb and I used to pretend we were the knights of old. All those legends of Westeros we’d heard stories about, you know. We’d play at kings and castles all day long. We’d always be running around, bothering all of Father’s men all the time.” He smiles wistfully.

Tormund grins. “You? Running around and wreaking havoc?”

“Why is that so surprising?” Jon laughs. He reaches out and takes Tormund’s drink from him, making a face when he sips it. “This is _vile_.”

“You have no taste,” Tormund informs him. “You Southerners with your piss-weak ale.”

“Say what you want, but at least it didn’t burn my lips right off my face,” Jon counters.

“Then what is the _point_?” asks Tormund, and for that, Jon has no answer. Tormund takes a moment to look smug, and then says, “And aye, it is a little surprising. You don’t look the havoc-wreaking type of child.”

“I wasn’t, not really,” Jon tells him. “It was mostly Robb, and I just got caught up in it a lot. Of course, Father didn’t care which one of us had the idea and which one of us went along with it – we both got punished just the same. Turns out Father’s men did not really enjoy having snowballs thrown at them from above.”

“Who could have thought,” says Tormund deadpan, and Jon laughs again.

“We used to steal food from the kitchens, too,” he says a few moments later, his voice taking on a faraway, reminiscent tone. “And hide Sansa’s shoes. I suppose that’s where Arya got a lot of her inspiration from; she was always running after us, begging us to let her join in. Gods, she was worse than both Robb and me put together, but Father never punished her as much; she was his favorite.”

“Was she the littlest, then?” Tormund asks.

“The littlest that could run,” Jon tells him. “Until Bran learned how to walk, and then it just got worse. I remember Theon had upset me once - can’t remember what about, though - and Robb bribed Arya and Bran to slip dung into his shoes. They denied it till they were blue in the face when Father asked.”

“Did he believe them?”

“‘Course not,” laughs Jon. “I think that’s one of the only times they got punished.”

The child with the broken stick has found another one; Jon and Tormund take a break in the conversation to watch as he whacks his friend with it.

“Ow! What’d you do that for?”

“That’s for breaking my sword!”

“I told you, it’s not a sword– _ow_! Stop hitting me!”

“Were you and your brother like this?” Tormund asks with a grin, turning back to Jon.

“No, but Sansa and Arya were,” Jon tells him. “Robb and I didn’t fight much. Theon and I had our differences, though, but…” He sighs. “It all seems so stupid and childish now.”

“But it’s not,” Tormund tells him. “They’re good memories, Jon. Just because you all grew up don’t mean they don’t matter anymore.”

Jon hums in agreement. “I suppose not.”

A peal of laughter interrupts them, and they both look up again to see that the two boys have evidently reconciled. They are now running around the fire again, grinning and shouting, both of them waving sticks at each other again. It’s as if the past few minutes have not happened at all.

“Children,” sighs Jon.

Tormund laughs. “That’s just how they are, little crow. Best to enjoy it while it lasts.”

_Indeed_, thinks Jon, and can’t help but smile again.


End file.
